Un Petit Baguette
by LheraWryts
Summary: ((Warning: Eating Disordered Behaviours)) Francine Bonnefoy struggles with bulimia. The consequences are beginning to show. Possible fem FrUk in later chappies. Maybe.
1. Chapter 1

_**((WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING**_

_** This fanfic revolves around the fanfics I write on eating-disordered Hetalia characters. In this case, it's on Fem France and her bulimia struggles.  
I am writing these fics to help me cope with my own ed relapse, and to help others cope as well. If you're triggered, if you don't like these types of stories, etc, get out now, because you can't complain to me later. **_

_** -LyraTheWriter))**_

**Chappie 1- Intros**

When you are but a _petit enfant_ (small child), it's perfectly fine to be a chubby. In fact, it's very, very cute.

"_Tu as une fille belle, ronde, jolie fille_ (You are a beautiful, plump, nice girl!)" A close friend of my parents once said to me when I was 7 years old, handing me some _chocolat_. Many other friends and family members would tell me that I was cute, round, nice and plump. Nobody every picked on me. I was an innocent child, and like any other child, I was filled with daydreams of going to Paris in the summer, reading all sorts of fantasy novels, and, of course, getting as many sweets as my hands could grab.

But, of course, all things come to an end. When I was ten, I noticed that my breasts had begun to grow, and that meant puberty was starting earlier for me. Of course, I didn't really pay too much attention- all this meant was that I was an early bloomer, oui? But of course, one day in school, the boy sitting behind me grabbed my stomach, kneading the small rolls of chub between his fingertips.

"Ooooh, Francine, looks like **_you_** ate too much chocolate for Valentines Day!" A few nearby kids started snickering. My eyes were open in shock. I had heard about so-called "fat shaming," but I never thought I'D be a victim. After all, wasn't I the "cute, beautiful, round' girl?

Alice, a classmate who sits across from me, shot everyone a death glare, saying, with her severe British tone, "Can you just shut the hell up? Leave her in peace, and let me read." Sakura, who was sitting next to her, pointed at a manga that they were both sharing. Blushing from embarrassment, I pulled out a book of poetry.

"MAMAN! MAMAN!" I cried coming home that day, tears streaming down my face. When I told my mama what had happened, her face held a look of pain. That day, we went to the doctor together.

"Madame Bonnefoy, your daughter Francine is 130 lbs at 5 feet of height. She is considered to be slightly obese, given her age. Although I would not consider strict dieting, due to her being at her fastest stage of growth, please keep in mind that obesity provides risks for unhealthy diseases, as well as teasing by her classmates. Although she's always been on the overweight side, she's now in the obese range. Puberty is known to cause weight gain, so please keep a monitor on what your child eats. Otherwise, Francine is perfectly healthy."

Maman broke into tears once we left the office, and she refused to talk to me that evening.

From when I was ten years old, up until I was thirteen, I was put on all sorts of diets. None of the weight ever stayed off. And slowly, I got fatter. I grew, but not enough to make up for all the weight. I almost gave up.

Until one day, my life changed forever.

It was in my health class. My health teacher, Mr. Braginski was a good guy, it's just that he was more interested in discussing plans for his math class with Mrs. Yao in the next room to save work time. So, instead of giving us a lesson on eating disorders, he just popped a tape into a VCR, and he was off to talk lesson plans while we learned about anorexia and bulimia.

I knew enough about anorexia from hearing things about "starvation mode," and I knew that I could never eat only a small amount of food per day, contrary to my French stereotype. But I never heard about bulimia. So then I listened to what the documentary had to say.

There was a girl a little bit older than me who would "binge eat", meaning that she'd eat, and eat, and eat. And then, she'd throw up to make up for what she ate so that she wouldn't gain weight. She was thinner than me. I was 5'4 at 140 lbs by that time; overweight. She was at a healthy weight. And even though the documentary told of how throwing up would cause all sorts of issues, I could only think of how I was dieting the wrong way all this time.

That night, right after I ate dinner, I headed to the bathroom, and my parents had to head to work. Perfect.

I hunched over the toilet, and wet my fingers with some water from the sink so that they could go down my throat easily. And I pushed them into my throat, feeling around for that "gag reflex". Eventually, I found it.

"REEEEEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!" My throat made a retching sound. And only a few pathetic drops of fluid ran out. I pushed harder, trying to get something out. Nothing. Push. Push. Push! PUSH. PUSH! PUSH! PUSH!

"BLEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Some escargot plopped right into the bowl. I smiled,, tears running down my face. And I kept on trying. Once I felt like nothing else could come out, I immediately sighed, exhausted. Purging takes energy. I had spent nearly an hour trying to get the escargots out. Well, I would get better with practice.

And get better at it I did.

((To Be Continued...)


	2. Chapter 2-Partners

_**Chappie 2- Partners  
**_

"Francine, hey. Fran-Fran, snap out of it." Oh. I was daydreaming again. Honestly, gym class is useless- you never actually do any **_real _**physical activity. Of course I'd end up daydreaming. One of my close friends, Antonia, was shaking my shoulder, her brown curly hair falling into my face.

"Seriously _amigo,"_ she sighed. "You really need to pay more attention to things around you." She leaned closer to my ear, winking. "Like your lovely Alice Kirklan-" I smacked her face at hearing the name of who I was _avec_ _en amour _(in love with).

"Oh mon dieu, 'Tonia!" Then, done with rolling my eyes, I started to grin, and it was my turn to make her surprised with a comeback. Leaning in, I whispered to her, "But check out the breasts on Lovina. That shirt really-"

"Aiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee! Okay, okay!" Laughing, we all went into the locker rooms to change out of our gym uniforms and back into our regular outfits. And as usual, perverted and sick as I am, perverted and sick as it sounds, I look over to Alice Kirkland as we're all changing, for my usual dose of eye candy... and maybe some thinspiration as well.

Alice has a small frame; a petite, lean body. Her breasts are perhaps no bigger than a B cup, but they appear to be very full in shape, from what I see as I look at her light pink bra. She isn't wearing a push-up today, but they honestly don't suit her style-wise. I notice that the light, pale pink shade looks good on her. Very good. Looking lower, her stomach is flat, but soft, with no real definition of any abdominal muscle; the waist narrows in the center, creating small hourglass curves that make her look more woman than girl. Her back is surprisingly well-defined, the place where her arm and back connect show just a bit of bone whenever her body bends in a certain fashion. Her hips are just a little less wider than her shoulders, her butt making a small c-shape. Black lacy underwear makes her look a little bit sexy underneath her serious attitude. Turning a little bit pink in the cheeks, I look lower, and see her lean legs stepping into a flowery, long, light lavender skirt.

Don't get me wrong, I love her for more than just her body, but I can't help but admire it every so often... And think of all the naughty things I want to do to it. Ugh, I am so _degoutant_ (disgusting) in all the wrong ways.

Before any of my friends notice my ogling, I turn to their conversation. Julchen, the only Hetero chick in our Bad Touch Trio, is rambling on about Daniel, someone she's known since she was crawling as a small child.

"No no no no, you should've heard what Daniel said today when I- "

"Julchen, are you sure you're not _en amour_ with your Hungarian guy-friend?" At my question, she nearly blew up at me in a flushed face rage. Almost chasing me out of the locker room only half-dressed, I managed to escape from there with my life, pants on.

Fortunately for me, I had French class, and French club last period and after school. We were merging those two things together today. I remembered something about cooking that we were doing today... I sigh when I think of what could happen today. Honestly, how does one escape situations involving food?

"Francine!"

Hearing my name being called out, I turn, and go face-to-face with the girl calling my name.

I can see my deep blue eyes into her striking green emeralds.

It's Alice, and she's currently taking my breath away.

"O-oui?" I squeaked, slightly.

"Francine, we're cooking in French today."

"Oui, what about it?"  
"I can't cook." Her face was held down in shame. I then realized that I finally had my chance; the moment I was waiting for.

"Oh, would you like to be my partner? I can help you out with some basics." Trying to smile, I look at her, and wait for her reply.

To my luck, she nods.


	3. Chapter 3-Tears

_**Chapter 3- Cake~**_

_**((I am trash for not updating my fanfics on time okay))**_

"D'accord, classe~" ((Okay, class)) Monsieur Bonnefoy (coincidentally, he has my last name, too) closed his classroom door after we left the room that was immersed into French culture as if it was France itself. We all quickly left to go down into the cafeteria, where we went into the kitchens. We all went "Oh la la~" at seeing all of the giant ovens and refrigerators behind the scenes. Monsieur Bonnefoy seemed to be used to it all, and ordered us in pairs. I smiled at knowing Alice would be baking with me.

"Alright zen, dere are dry ingredients in ze cabinets, and ozers are in za fridge. Here are zome cookbooks, in case you need a recipe." And with that, he went off to make his own cake, and I pulled Alice over to a free space on a clean counter. A bit surprised, she looked up at me.

"W-wait, aren't we going to get a recipe?"

I huffed. "No, we're going to make something MUCH better than anything he has in that cookbook. It's called chocolate ganache cake."

"Isn't that called Sachertorte?"

"Sachartorte is the Austrian version, and it has apricot jam. Every single European country has some form of chocolate ganache cake, even America. Ganache isn't too difficult to make, and it's fun to decorate cake with it," I explained, while getting all of our ingredients.

Alice stared at all of them with wide eyes, and I could tell she was unsure of what to do. "Don't worry," I reassured her. "I'll be there to show you how it's done. It kinda sucks that we have low-quality chocolate though..."  
"Well, we didn't pay for it."

"Still, it would've been nice..." I wrote down the crucial steps of the recipe, and we got down to work. There were many close calls at messing this recipe up. For example, when I peeked over at Alice as she made the ganache, I stood behind her, and guided her hands as to show how to stir the mixture by putting my own over them, for she was stirring it too quickly. I felt her stiffen up, but I said nothing of it. Soon it began to boil, and it was time to take it off the stove. She almost spilled the pot, but Monsieur Bonnefoy just so happened to walk by and catch it with baking mitts on his palms. Looking at it, he nodded.

"Ganache cake?"  
"Oui oui!" She and I replied in unison.

Thankfully the cake itself was rather simple to do- Alice could fortunately measure ingredients, and we ended up conversing with one another.

"That actually wasn't too bad, frog." She grinned, and I was left confused. Frog?

"Frog? Where'd that come from?"

"Do you not remember? When we were really small kids, we'd argue a lot and call one another names. You were Frog and I was the Crazy Mint Bunny Lady," she started to chuckle. "And then we grew distant after awhile, but then I saw you getting made fun of by this ass one time- he was saying some nasty shit about your body, and I was also trying to read," she made a face remembering that memory. "Ha, his ass would be kicked if he saw you now- you bloomed like a flower~" She mused.

"Hahahaha," I faked a laugh, hiding some of my sadness. I knew that memory by heart, and I've been reminded again of the shallowness of people thanks to her last statements. Even so, I felt a little better with the fact that my body actually looked "okay." I poured the cake mixture into a pan greased with butter, and stuck it in the oven. Wiping my hands on my apron, Alice and I had 45 minutes to kill, which ended up being in small talk.

"So, do you have someone you like?" I asked. On normal circumstances, it would be a rather strange thing to ask, but since I'm known to be a school flirt, it's a typical question that rolls off my tongue. In any case, I wanted to know if I even had a chance with her.

"Hmm..." She put her hands on the counter behind her, leaning back slightly. "You could say I have a crush on someone... How about you? You like to flirt, but I've never seen YOU with anyone."

"Heh, well, I've liked a particular person for quite some time now..." I sighed, pursing my lips. "Still, I think I'll wait awhile before I tell her how I'm feeling."

She squinted at me, slightly surprised. "S-she?!" Seeing my baffled response, she quickly responded, "No, no, it's nothing like that... It's just that I never expected you to be bisexual... I mean, I used to have a girlfriend back when I temporarily transferred back into the UK-"

"Ah, so tell me about her," I placed my elbow on the counter, leaning in towards her, my hand holding my chin and the side of my face in curiosity.

"Well, she was the reason why I decided to come back to the States, you see. She was an American transfer student- her name was Amelia. Amelia Jones."

"Sounds like a very patriotic name," I mused.

"She was stereotypically of American fashion. Low cut shirts, southern American accent, loud mouthed and ostensibly innocent, but truly of a dirty mind." She stared off into space, laughing slightly at herself. "She absolutely loved cupcakes- she wondered why they were called fairycakes in the UK."

"What did she look like?"  
"Ah, well..." She pulled out her phone, and soon enough, a picture of a bombshell blonde with bright blue eyes, flowy curls of blonde-aubourn sunshine, and a very buxom body came into view. I envied that she could have a large bust with such a narrow waist. Did she drink milk often? I handed the phone back to her.

"She's very pretty."  
She sighed. "Yes, yes she was."

"You speak about her as if she was deceased."

"She is."

My breath caught in my throat and I thought I would choke. "I-I see. I'm sorry if-"

"No! Don't apologize; you didn't know. Besides, it's been some years since then; I'm fine. In a sense, her death made me realize what my purpose in life was- what I should pursue as my career."

"What do you want to be?"  
"A psychologist. I want to be of assistance to the emotional battles in the minds of others, because life itself is a war, y'know?" She started laughing in a melancholic tone. "Sorry, that last line was something inspired by Amelia."

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened to Amelia that caused her death?"  
She sighed. "Well-"

"D'ACCORD MON PETIT CROSSAINTS! We're done for today! You guys have to debate who gets what amongst you and your partner or partners, d'accord?" Monsieur Bonnefoy yelled out to all of us, and we nodded.

"Francine, you keep the cake."

"Ma amie, my family owns a bakery. I LIVE in a bakery."  
"Please, my family tends to be away on business trips often, and I'm not a big fan of sweets, despite liking your cooking. Take it."

I sighed. "D'accord. I'm just saying, this cake probably won't last until tomorrow."

"That's okay. I bet you and your family will really enjoy it!"

"Of course," I laughed, but my heart was not into it whatsoever in knowing the ugly truth.

Walking home, I stopped by my local European goods store since I had some money for helping out in the bakery. I wanted ice cream, and found a brand on sale in caramel-flavouring with lots of caramel drizzles and pieces. 5 dollars for a gallon? Yes please. I also found cheap-priced hazelnut spread and bought a large jar of that for six dollars.

Opening the door to the bakery and locking it behind me since my parents were out for the day, I headed up the stairs in the bakery kitchen and went through the hall and into my room. Setting the cake, ice cream, and hazelnut spread out on my bed, I went down and snatched a few random pastries, two bottles of carbonated water, and a spoon.

As I ate, tears started pouring out of my eyes for no reason. Putting on an episode of one of my favourite shows, I tried to calm down as I took yet another scoop of ice cream, ignoring the feeling of fullness developing in the depths of my stomach, and taking a few more gulps of carbonated water, I started to feel better. I finished the cake and pastries by this time, and was now moving on to mixing hazelnut spread and ice cream, chugging the rest of the carbonated water all the while as I continued watching the show.

Eventually, I was done, and I slowly rose up out of my bed, nearly falling down because I felt so heavy. Hobbling over to my shelves, I grab a black band and tie my hair back, heading to the bathroom down the hall. I don't even have to prepare my fingers, because when I lean down, I feel half of everything just coming down automatically. My body's used to this, and I mostly have to press on my stomach and contract it a certain way to force things out. A rancid taste comes out after awhile and I realize that my lunch of Greek Yogurt has began to come up. Looking down, I flush the toilet out of fear of clogging it.

By this point my stomach alone can no longer get anything up, so through teary eyes and a runny nose, I stick my fingers down my throat and make myself convulse until the taste of fresh bile coats my throat, burning it.

I end up making tea and drinking water mixed with baking soda afterwards to neutralize the acid in my esophagus. Besides, I also need to rehydrate.

I breathe in deeply as I drink my tea, and I reassure myself that it all will be okay.


	4. Chapter 4- La Baguette Struggles

_**Chapter 4- La Baguette Struggles**_

It's tough to focus in class after a tough purge the night before. Thankfully I had already learned the geometry terminology necessary to memorize by tomorrow, so I was able to daydream in class without getting caught. Drumming my fingers on my desk, my eyes widen when I look on my knuckles. _Merde_. Acid stains. They're bright red. But I sigh in relief soon afterwards, knowing that barely anyone in this entire school fully comprehends an _eating disorder,_ very much less than 1/2 as much as the symptoms. Besides, I can easily fake up a lie. _Oh, I burned myself baking yesterday, ahonhonhon, I am tres clumsy~!_ My eyes caught the stare of a boy staring at me, and I gave him a wink, causing him to stop in embarrassment. People's eyes tend to not travel beneath the exterior, so once people think of me as the intelligent class flirt, everything's okay.

French comes in a heartbeat, and I'm out the door. I notice I'm having heart palpitations today. I remember the first time I had them, and I was scared to death I'd die. But of course, I woke up the next morning perfectly okay. Drinking out of a water bottle from the side of my backpack, I walk into class, noticing everyone's in the back, against the wall. Seat change day.

"D'ACCORD! TU ES ICI, TU ES LA..." ((Okay! You are here, you are there...)) I take notice and half hope that I'm sitting next to Alice this semester. However, a part of me gets carried in a wave of fear... and it's surfing within the insides of my stomach. I envy those who get fireflies in their stomachs, as that sure does not happen to me.

"ALICE! Tu es avec Francine, tout de suite!" ((Alice, you are with Francine, quickly now!))

She smiles at me, and I return the gesture. Our desks are side by side, connected. When I sit down, I worry that my face is puffy, my legs look large in this seated position (pourqoi ((why)) do I get so worried when my thighs spread out on the seat when I sit down... It's perfectly normal...), and that my stomach makes a roll that protrudes outward. No matter what, I always get scared that I look like the Fat Francine of just a few years back.

"So, did your family enjoy the cake~?" She sounds so lighthearted, sweet even. She's SMILING...

"Y-yes, they did~" I tilt my head in a smile, and tuck some hair in that's front of my face behind my ear. It's a simple flirting technique that always seems to work. However, I see her eyes lose some shine when I do the action. I purse my lips with a questioning look, darting my eyes towards my hand. I notice I have a ring on it.

"Oh, do you like this ring? Ma grandmere ((my grandmother)) gave it to me when I was little, so I could wear it when I grew older," I giggled. "C'est belle, c'est pas? ((it's beautiful, is it not?))"

I see her lips curl up a bit, and her eyes begin to get their sparkle beneath their large, square-rimmed lenses. However, she takes my hand (my heart skips an irregular beat) and touches a delicate, light pink painted nail, right on my knuckle. My body freezes like ice.

"What happened here?" Her emerald eyes are staring into my soul. Her hair, tied in double ponytails, accented with Japanese hair accessories (did Sakura do her hair today?) seems to flow with the slight breeze coming in through the slightly opened windows at the left. Monsieur Bonnefoy is speaking at the phone with another teacher. Given his flirtatious tone, I assumed it was Mr. Kirkland, Alice's uncle.

"Ah, I burned my knuckles at the oven yesterday," I forced out a laugh of embarrassment. "Seriousment, ((seriously)) it happens sometimes. Helping out at a bakery is not very easy, you know."

She nods, but seems skeptical. I pray she doesn't ask any more questions. "Okay." We don't talk any more during the period, but I notice she's scribbling something in her notebook; at the end of the period, she tears it out, and hands it to me. I take it, and give it a read:

_Alice Kirkland: (901)-458-9908_

_ If you ever need someone to talk to about anything,_

_ or if you just want to hang out, here's my number._

_ I don't give it away easily, so don't give it to anyone!  
_

I think my heart skipped another beat. I smile. She smiles back, and drags me down to lunch with her.

I tend to eat alone in the library, so the cafeteria is somewhat overwhelming. I notice students laughing, shouting, arguing, and even flirting. Alice ignores everyone and plops me at a table, and I'm sitting in between her and Sakura, who immediately smiles at me. Her hair is too short to be done like Alice's, but she's decorated it with floral royal purple accessories.

"Hey, Francine~"

"Hello," we exchange friendly expressions.

"Can I do your hair? My mother recently came back from Osaka, and bought me too many of these cute accessories. Can I do a blue undersea theme for you?" I nod, and a few minutes later, my hair's done in braids, with blue fish accessories. It's beautiful. I thank her, and she grins, and tells me to wear them often so she can get different hair styling ideas. All of us pull out our lunches.

"Is that all you're having?" Sakura questions, holding out a chopstick towards my cup of greek yogurt. I notice she's eating a bento, and Alice's staring at me, a sandwich in her hand. I shrug.  
"My mama cooked me a big breakfast, so I packed a yogurt for a light lunch," I lied. This was the reason why I always hid in the library or helped out a teacher during my lunch break. Teachers don't care unless you look like you're rail-thin when it comes to what you're having for lunch, and food isn't allowed in the library. Even so, I missed having conversations with others during my lunch breaks when I was a child.

Normally I don't eat the entire container of yogurt. I'm always paranoid that the manufacturers lie about the nutritional information on everything (did you know diet soda, and coffee, has about 5 calories a serving? I didn't know that), so I tend to leave about 1/4 of what I eat if I keep it in. But I make this a special case and down the entire container, even scraping the bottom, so that I can lessen Alice's suspicions. I think it works.

"Francine, would you like a mochi? It's a cake-type Japanese dessert, made with rice flour, with filling inside. This one has green tea. Here, have one," she hands over a ball-shaped dessert towards me, and my insides scream. I calm myself down by telling myself I won't have dinner tonight. And I manage to eat it without rushing to the bathroom. Alice is here. She can't get suspicious.

Thank god it's over as soon as it began.

Still, I don't like unplanned food. Staring at my water bottle, I realize it's opaque- no one can see what's inside. When the bell rings, as I run to class, somehow I manage to hands-free purge into the bottle.

It may have not gotten everything up,

But it's better than nothing.


End file.
